


The Possession of One Harry J. Potter

by Rainbow_Socks, vibeconnoisseurcas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Gen, What-If, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Socks/pseuds/Rainbow_Socks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibeconnoisseurcas/pseuds/vibeconnoisseurcas
Summary: June 24, 1995, was a fateful day indeed. It seemed Voldemort didn’t need a body of his own after all. Yet on the night of the Third Triwizard Task he rose to power in a way no one could have imagined. What if Cedric lived to tell the tale?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Cedric's Twisted Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by my best friend Cassandra Nicole
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter but Joke Karen Rowling can choke <3.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cedric Diggory wasn’t going mad. That much he knew. No matter what The Daily Prophet wrote, he knew what he saw. But after seeing the effects this chaos had on his father, he decided living far away from the Wizarding world’s prying eyes would be best for him. His father did come to visit quite often. He had even left Cedric his wand in case of an emergency. Cedric shuddered to think of what horrors his own wand was being used for now. Aside from his father, Cho Chang was another regular visitor. That is until she had decided to break things off with Cedric just a few months ago. Not that he blamed her, who would want to be known for associating with “Mad Diggory”.

Cedric groaned as he sat up in his bed, wishing he hadn’t decided on drinking that third bottle of scotch. As he rolled over, a knock sounded. Cedric slowly got up, rubbing his head to try and soothe the oncoming headache. He walked cautiously to the front door, listening intently. He leaned against the door, hoping whoever was on the other side was deterred. Another knock sounded. Whoever was outside was here for _him._

“Cedric? Cedric Diggory? It’s Ron Weasley. We went to the Quidditch World Cup together. I’m a friend of Harry’s.”

Cedric shoved his doubts aside for a single moment, opened the door, and saw that sure enough, he was telling the truth. Or at least half of it. Ronald Weasley stood in the doorway looking just as Cedric remembered him, except maybe a bit taller. Same flaming red hair, same freckled complexion. Cedric’s doubts resurfaced quickly. He aimed his wand, nearly jabbing Ron in the nose. “Who are you?” Cedric demanded. “Who are you, _really_?”

“I’ve already told you,” Ron stammered. “Ronald Weasley. We went to school together.”

“What house are you at Hogwarts?” said Cedric.

“Gryffindor, of course—”

“Who else was with us on our way to the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Blimey— I don’t remember, it was me, Harry, ‘mione, Ginny, the twins, my dad, and your dad. And you, obviously.”

“What happened to Harry Potter in his third year during the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match?”

“He— fell off his broom? You caught the golden snitch just before you saw what had happened. You tried to call a rematch, but Madam Hooch said no. I reckon the twins still aren’t over it. Now, will you get that thing out of my face, please?”

Cedric lowered the wand. The two stared at one another for another tense moment before Cedric moved aside.

“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone besides my dad,” Cedric muttered, stepping away with every step Ron took forward. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“What was that all about?” said Ron. 

“They’re everywhere. They could be anyone. I had to make sure.” said Cedric.

“Er— right then…” Ron glanced around, looking concerned as to who ‘they’ might be. “I’ll take a glass of juice, then, if you’ve got it.”

Cedric nodded and walked towards the kitchen, allowing his eyes to leave Ron for a moment as he opened the cupboard. Empty. Empty. He glanced down at the counter where a single page of the Daily Prophet sat, taunting him. ‘The Boy Who Lived Dies In Triwizard Tournament, Diggory’s Sanity Not Yet Recovered’. 

It was clear Ron had no intention of being left alone in this house. He too strode to the kitchen, much to Cedric’s uncomfort. Ron followed his gaze down to the single page of the newspaper. 

“The nerve, right? Those blokes at the Daily Prophet didn’t even use Harry’s name. They never do. It’s not right.” said Ron. 

“Uh-huh,” said Cedric, remembering he had seen a few bottles of something under the sink. He kneeled down to take a look. “Uh, sorry. Looks like all I have is scotch and whiskey,” Cedric said. He stood and walked briskly to the living room, listening closely for Ron’s footsteps. 

“I’ll take a glass of whiskey then,” said Ron.

Cedric shook his head and waved him over. “You’re still a kid. I’ve had enough scandal.”

The boys sat silently in opposite sofas that were set up in the next room. Ron leaned forward and said, “I believe you, y’know. Harry isn’t dead. Hermione and I need answers, please. What happened to my best friend?”

Cedric opened his mouth, then froze. This was not the request he was expecting. 

“Oh!” Ron produced a short piece of parchment from his pocket. “Before I forget, here’s proof. I received this in the mail. It’s why I’m here. It’s from him, I can tell from his messy penmanship. Look at the writing.”

Cedric glanced at the paper. ‘ _RON, DON'T GO TO THE RIDDLE HOUSE’_ was written in splotched green ink.

Ron noticed his hesitance. “I know we don’t, er— know each other very well. And I understand if… well, look. You can trust me.”

Cedric studied Ron’s face carefully, then finally nodded. This boy in front of him was either a caring friend desperate to listen or evil itself in disguise. Either way, Cedric had nothing to lose. 

“We… we were in the maze,” Cedric uttered. It was only the first five words of the long, twisted tale Ron was waiting for. Cedric’s voice carried, his words captured each remote detail, but quickly his mind was elsewhere. He felt the soil beneath his feet as if he was there once again. The leaves brushing against his arm. Instantly, his breath was shallow. Cedric had spent months pushing this horrid day out of his mind, but the longer he spoke, the more vivid his memory became.

He remembered how he and Harry were thrown onto the foreign ground. How each of them realized a moment too late that the Triwizard Cup was much more than a simple trophy, it was indeed a portkey. Cedric whirled his head around, searching for a clue of where they could have possibly landed. It was a graveyard, for certain. Headstones of all shapes and sizes surrounded them, but nothing was out of the ordinary aside from the growing pit in Cedric’s chest. Something was wrong here, very, very wrong. Suddenly, he spotted it. Squinting to see through the darkness, he was able to make out two words carved into the headstone just ahead of them. _TOM RIDDLE_. His heart dropped into his stomach. With a great effort, he convinced his hand to reach for the wand tucked into his robes. 

“Cedric,” said Harry, pulling his arm. Cedric turned in his direction to see two figures, both hooded and disfigured from the thick fog ahead. Harry’s wand, which had raised instantly in defense, was shot out of his hand with a resounding “Expelliarmus!” from the taller figure. BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of the hooded stranger’s wand and twisted themselves around Harry and Cedric’s limbs in an instant. Startled and struggling, both boys fell to the ground. While their attacker stood back, masked by the fog, the second continued to walk closer. He was slouched, extending his wand with one hand, clutching a bundle of something in the other. Cedric narrowed his eyes, just able to make out shadows of a face underneath the cloak—

“You,” Harry growled. The man winced as though Harry’s voice pained him. His eyes lay on Harry for only a moment before he turned away.

“Answer me,” said Harry, fighting the chords that bound him. “Peter Pettigrew. Answer me, you backstabbing traitor. You absolute coward, you—”

“ _Enough._ ” bellowed a cold voice from above. Cedric at first had thought it was Pettigrew’s voice, but the way the man flinched made him think otherwise. Then, without warning, Harry shouted in agony. 

“Harry! You all right? What’ve they done?”

“It’s my head,” said Harry, breathless. “Cedric, my scar…”

He looked to see Harry’s forehead, which was red and aggravated. His lightning scar seemed to be splintering downwards towards his brow bone. Pettigrew drew nearer. As Harry grimaced from the pain of his forehead, Cedric heard the man’s voice for the first time, mumbling a spell that he did not recognize. He then used the tip of his wand to slice Harry’s arm as though it were a knife.

“Stop that! You’re hurting him!” said Cedric. He still hadn’t a clue of what was happening, but he saw his friend getting paler all the time. He gave a mighty kick in Pettigrew’s direction, still gripping the handle of his wand, which remained concealed. The voice above laughed abruptly. It was the high-pitched, patronizing laugh of someone with no remorse. 

“ _Kill the spare._ ” It said, and Pettigrew nodded. Without a moment of hesitation, Cedric tore his wand arm from the cords and heard his own voice yell “ _Expelliarmus_!” just before Pettigrew’s wand launched into the air. Harry lurched forward and crushed the wand between the nearest headstone and his shoe. Cedric heard the crack and sizzle of the wand’s termination, then turned to the second figure, who was now running towards them. “ _Stupefy_!” he cried. A large blast of light shot from his wand, so strong it threw the stranger backward several feet.

“Such strong will to live,” stuttered Pettigrew, ripping Cedric’s wand from him. 

“ _I_ _ndeed,_ ” the voice hissed. “ _We’ll be making history tonight. Allow him to witness it.”_

Cedric caught his breath. He would be spared. But at what cost?

Wormtail pulled perhaps the biggest cauldron Cedric had ever seen towards them, then dragged both boys to their feet, only to tie them to the large headstone just beside them. Cedric’s eyes must have adjusted to the dark, for he could see Pettigrew’s face at last. Thin, hairless, with darting eyes and a veil of terror. 

“You,” Cedric spoke as calmly as possible. “I can see you’re frightened. We’re frightened too. Just tell us what’s going on. Perhaps we can help you…” 

“No,” was all Pettigrew said in reply. “I-it’s ready, master. _Blood from the veins of the marionette yet to be._ ” He seized Harry’s bleeding arm and held it over the cauldron, then set what he was holding down on the foot of the grave for a moment. Cedric could see it clearly now. It was the most horrifying thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was the size of an infant child, with the face of a flattened snake, slimy flesh like fresh blood, and glowing red eyes. He gasped in horror, then a shout echoed throughout the graveyard. It took Cedric a moment to realize it wasn’t his own. It was Harry, pressed into his side, fighting as Pettigrew snatched a handful of his wild, black hair. He produced a knife from under his robes.

 _“Scalp, shielding the unconquered mind,_ ” he announced as he sawed through Harry’s hair. With another scream, Cedric knew from the intense scent of blood that Pettigrew had succeeded. Pettigrew pulled away the bloody slab of skin and dropped it into the cauldron, causing it to stir and turn a sickly shade of green. Cedric began to tremble. He stared silently at the ground, unable to look up and see how badly his friend had been mutilated in the short time since they’d arrived. 

“Cedric,” whispered Harry as Pettigrew turned away to tend to the brewing potion. “That’s— Wormtail, he’s working for— they’re Death Eaters, and my scar— it’s Voldemort, Ced. It’s Voldemort.”

In the distance, the second stranger stood once again. Cedric’s eyes flicked to the man’s forearm and realized that Harry was right. Just visible under his sleeve was the unmistakable dark mark. 

“Ah, Avery,” stammered Pettigrew. “Quickly, t-time is running out.” 

Avery stumbled towards the rest of them, producing a strange vial from his robes. It was small and filled with a muddy, bubbling potion. He opened it, grabbed Harry’s arm, and let more of his blood drip into his glass. 

“What’s that, Polyjuice?” Harry’s voice was growing weaker by the minute. Avery silently downed the liquid. Both boys watched in horror as his flesh bubbled and warped until it was as though Harry was staring at a mirror image of himself. Cedric had learned about Polyjuice potion from his time spent in the library with Cho Chang. But he couldn’t understand why this Death Eater was using it now. 

Avery flashed them a sickening smile that was so unlike the real Harry before leaning forward to grab hold of the Cup. The Cup, of course. That damned cup that had gotten them into this wretched scene. Maybe it could get them out, too. 

“ _In five short minutes, the portkey will reactivate, and the Wizarding world will have their precious Harry Potter once again._ ” The voice taunted, somehow sounding closer than before.

“N-not for long,” Harry could barely utter the words through his pain, but his lips curled into a heroic grin. “Polyjuice potion only lasts a few hours.”

“ _Stupid boy. Not if the drinker doesn’t live to see his reversal.”_

Cedric understood nearly instantly. “Wait—!”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” shouted Pettigrew, Cedric’s wand aimed directly at Avery. With a flash of blinding green light, he was dead. His hand, twisted and lifeless, still clung to the handle of the Triwizard Cup.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand… I don’t understand—”

“No one’s asking you to,” said Pettigrew. He used the knife to cut the cord that bound Harry, who fell forward weakly in front of the cauldron. Cedric contemplated untying his own but decided against it. One wrong move could cost him his life, and if he was to save Harry, that was the one thing he couldn’t risk.

“You said you were making history,” Cedric said gently to Pettigrew, who clumsily retightened his cords. “What— ow, what exactly do you mean by that?”

Pettigrew once again didn’t respond. He forced Harry to his knees while Cedric hid two ends of an untied knot inside his fist. Cedric watched what happened next with bated breath. Pettigrew swooped the small, blood-red creature in his arms once again. He stood over the cauldron and, as Cedric’s jaw dropped, promptly dropped it inside. Surely the thing was too helpless to do anything but drown… 

“ _Hurry!_ ” The voice was closer and more furious than ever before. 

“Yes, master.” Pettigrew grabbed Harry’s head by a fistful of hair and dunked him face-first into the potion. Harry’s arms and legs thrashed but somehow Pettigrew, meak and frail as he was, kept him secured under the surface, which was now beginning to darken and stir. Cedric realized quickly that he had no intention of bringing Harry back up for air. He was going to drown him too.

“Let him go,” said Cedric. But Pettigrew only glanced up at him, and a quivering smile spread across his face. “I said let him go!” Cedric yelled. It was a battle cry. He launched himself towards the cauldron. Its content poured out as it tipped sideways, including the tiny, mangled body of the creature which was now surely dead. Cedric turned to Harry, who had fallen face-first into the ground. He wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. What an elaborate and pointless way to kill someone. And why? Cedric sat him upright as Pettigrew began to chortle, his voice shrill and crackly, like a rat.

“It’s done,” he spoke with so much joy and relief that he was practically singing. He watched Cedric carefully, waiting. 

“What is done?” said Cedric. But the answer didn’t matter when he felt Harry stir in his arms. “Harry, Harry, c’mon mate… I’ve got you…” Cedric looked down at his face. Harry’s head was bleeding profusely and his scar— Cedric felt a chill down his spine. Harry’s scar, which was once one solitary lightning bolt, had now spread all the way down to his left cheek. His forehead looked like a single, spectacular moment in a monsoon thunderstorm. 

Harry’s eyes fluttered, and Cedric reached into the darkness and felt the cold, thin rim of his glasses. “Here,” he said, placing them on his face, attempting to straighten them as they now fit crooked after his fall. Harry’s eyes opened at last. Perhaps it was Cedric’s imagination, but his brilliant green eyes seemed dimmer than before. Around his irises were two thin, brown no—red rings. The closer Cedric looked, the more it seemed as though Harry’s eyes were bleeding.

“Wormtail,” said Harry. His face was blank. His voice was gravelly, as though he was speaking from a lower register than usual. “The wand.”

Cedric pulled away quickly, but it was no use. Harry grabbed his collar with one hand and seized the wand with the other. With a single, swift motion, Harry was on top of him, his elbow crushing Cedric’s throat. Through his spotty vision, Cedric could see his own wand pointed directly at him, and Harry’s murderous face ready to finish him off. 

“Harry—!” Cedric choked.

“Don’t you see?” His voice was strange. His words were wrong. “Stupid boy. I—” Harry’s voice broke, and Cedric watched his expression rapidly shift to absolute panic. He threw himself as far away from Cedric as he could.

“Cedric! Get to the Cup!” he screamed. Cedric finally understood. He sprinted for the Cup as Harry— no, _Voldemort—_ let out a roar of pure fury and ran after him. Cedric reached the Cup just in time. The second he felt the coolness of the metal in his hand, he was engulfed by the howling wind and sea of color of the portkey soaring back to Hogwarts. He landed on his feet somehow, at the finish line of the third Triwizard task. He looked up to see his classmates in the stands above him, and he heard their cheers slowly begin to taper off. 

“He’s back! Quit cheering! The Dark Lord has returned!” Cedric shouted as loudly as he possibly could. “He’s got Harry! He’s possessed him! They’re in a graveyard— far away from here— we have to save him! Please! We have to save Harry!”

Several students covered their mouths. Some looked away. Others were looking directly at Cedric, unsure of what to say or do.

“Ced,” a familiar voice was running towards him. It was Cho Chang. She gently cupped his face in her hands and her eyes filled with tears. “He’s not possessed.”

“No, no. Cho, you don’t understand, check his arm—!”

“Please, Cedric. Look,” Cho directed his gaze towards the body that lay on the ground just next to them. A teacher kneeled beside it, and Cedric watched as he shared a solemn glance with Cho before shaking his head. A sob escaped her and she buried her face in Cedric’s shoulder. From the stands, they heard McGonagall scream.

“I remember that day,” said Ron. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Me too,” said Cedric after a moment. He was not on Hogwarts grounds. He was sitting in his living room, safe and hidden away from the horrors of last year. He was safe. He was safe. Somehow he still couldn’t quite understand it. 

“So, Harry, my best friend, has been possessed by… by Voldemort, the darkest wizard of our time,” said Ron. “And you’ve known all this time?”

“Yes. Everyone thinks I’ve gone mad,” Cedric replied, raising his head, finally. “I’m not. Ron Weasley, I’m the furthest thing from it.”

Ron leaned back in his chair, feeling as though it might swallow him whole. He fussed with the paper he’d brought, his last shred of hope that Harry could still be saved. “But, if there’s no proof…”

“There is. Avery’s body still looks like Harry, but even Polyjuice potion can’t cover up something as powerful as a dark mark. You should be able to still see it on his arm.”

Ron sighed. “Brilliant. So this has been great, but if you don’t mind, I’m off to dig up _Harry Potter’s grave_.”

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“No, no. You’ve done more than enough, Cedric.” Ron shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, I do, of course. I do believe it. But Harry’s supposed to be the Chosen One, how’s he supposed to save us now?”

“He’s still in there,” said Cedric. “He fought hard enough to tell me to get back to the Cup. Not to mention write you that note. We’ve got a fighting chance.”

Ron sighed. “I hope so,” He got up from the sofa, putting his hand out to shake Cedric’s. “Thanks a lot, Cedric. I really appreciate it.”

Cedric took it reluctantly. The two walked to the door, silent and stiff. Cedric clutched the door handle. “Godspeed, Ron.”


	2. Believe It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron has come back with new information about Harry for the Order of the Phoenix but not everyone believes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by my best friend Cassandra Nicole
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter but Joke Karen Rowling can choke <3.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ron hadn’t a clue of how long it took him to return to Grimmauld Place that afternoon. His mind was much too full and his heartbeat was much too fast. He mounted his broomstick— well, Harry’s broomstick— the Firebolt which was gifted to Harry during their third year of school. Since the unfortunate events of the Triwizard Tournament, Ron had taken it upon himself to keep up with its regular maintenance. Recently, however, he had been using it to embark on his own quest for answers, as the Order of the Phoenix seemed less than interested in meddling with the issue of Harry’s death.

It was past noon when Ron landed on the porch step of 12 Grimmauld Place. He tore open the door leading into the entry corridor, where he found Ginny headed for the staircase. Ron thrust the broomstick into her arms. “Take this upstairs, will you?”

“Oh, right away, Master Ronald,” said Ginny, shouldering the Firebolt and scowling. He sprinted to the double doorway at the very end of the corridor, feeling as though he might burst. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have certainly, most likely, knocked. But Ron could not fathom a less ordinary circumstance than this. He shoved the doors open and ran to the table where the Order was seated. 

“ _Emergency!_ ” Ron exclaimed with his final ounce of breath before doubling over the side of the table, gasping. The Order members turned to him, faces varying from annoyed to slightly amused.

“Ronald, what has gotten into you?” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Mum— I know.. what’s h-happened to Harry,” said Ron. “He’s alive… I’ve just spoken with Cedric, he explained everything. Harry’s in trouble, Mum. We’ve got to save him.”

Silence fell over the room. Snape was the first to break it, spitting through his teeth as though this information gravely inconvenienced him. “Potter is dead. This has been confirmed. Cedric Diggory lost his wits at the sight of his classmate’s corpse. He is not a reliable source of information.”

“Now, Snivellus,” said Sirius Black. “Diggory was the last person to see Harry alive—”

“But we all saw Harry’s dead body,” Remus Lupin interjected. “We had a funeral. The entire Wizarding world mourned him—”

“No! That wasn’t Harry, it was a Death Eater. Peter Pettigrew murdered him just after he took a Polyjuice Potion. We’ve all been fooled!” said Ron.

Each member seated at the table had a different reaction to Ron’s new development. Snape’s face twisted as if he’d just tasted lemon. Sirius had somehow gone paler than before, and Remus moved his chair closer to him.

“Well, _fuck_ ,” said Nymphadora Tonks as her hair flashed from bubblegum pink to a sickly green color.

“Language,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was still as a statue and by far the calmest individual in the room.

“Right, sorry, I sort of figured you’d have bigger worries right now than one measly little word. My mistake,” said Tonks.

“Ron, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. None of us are,” said Mr. Weasley. “But perhaps you could… elaborate? Just so we have a bit more of an understand—” 

“Mr. Weasley, have you gone mental, or are you just plain stupid?” Snape snapped. “Potter is dead. He was dead in June, and he’s still dead now. I will not debate the absolute fact!”

“Alright, enough! My boy, take a seat and tell us _exactly_ what Cedric told you,” said Sirius, side-eyeing Snape. “And don’t spare a single detail.”

Ron pulled an empty chair and recanted Cedric’s story to the best of his ability. By the time he was finished, the silence in the room was so powerful that the sound of a dropped pin might’ve made them all flinch.

“Harry’s… possessed?” said Sirius finally. 

“That’s impossible,” said Remus. “I’ve never heard of such a ritual in all my life.”

“This is the Dark Lord. Every other day he’s got a lovely new surprise for us,” said Tonks.

“As inventive as Weasley’s story may be,” said Snape. “There’s no telling what’s true and what’s come straight from the imagination of a grieving teenaged boy.”

“For your information, Cedric’s been seventeen for quite a while,” said Ron. “He’s an adult by wizard law.”

“I don’t mean Diggory. I mean you, Ronald Weasley.” Snape spat.

“Me?”

“You spent four years living in Harry Potter’s shadow. Perhaps his exceptional arrogance was contagious, or, I believe the more likely explanation, you spent the entire length of your friendship leaching off of Potter’s unimpressive personality,” Snape shrugged. “You’ve no identity without him. Your friendship was your livelihood. Now, months after that’s ended for good, you’ve fabricated a fantasy where your friend lives and you get to play hero. It’s truly pitiful. If I didn’t detest the both of you so, perhaps I’d feel sorry for you.”

“Snape, it would be wise if you stopped talking this instant,” said Mr. Weasley. But it was too late. Snape’s words had cut through Ron’s skin, and what he found underneath was a condensed cluster of deranged anger which had been brewing in the pit of Ron’s stomach for the better half of a year.

“How dare you,” said Ron. “You have the audacity to mock me and Harry at a time like this? It seems to me like you’re happy he’s gone! But frankly, that’s no surprise coming from you. You know something? Harry, Hermione, and I were convinced it was _you_ who had been plotting to steal the sorcerer’s stone during our first year at Hogwarts! Oh! And believe me, I haven’t forgotten how you’ve bullied Neville Longbottom so brutally that his bloody boggart takes the shape of _you._ Why d'you think that is, huh? It’s because you’re a horrible teacher and you're an even worse person,”

Several members began to interject, but Ron was far from finished. “You can feel sorry for me all you’d like, but at least I’ve got people in my life who I care about— so much so that I rode for hours on a bloody broomstick to talk with this sorry lad who I barely know, all for a possible shred of information that could prove that my best friend, The Boy Who bloody Lived might’ve actually lived after all! I might as well’ve just saved the entire Wizarding world today, but trying to get that through your thick skull is like talking to a brick wall. I’m finished holding my tongue around you. You can fail me in potions. Expel me if you’d like— if that’ll finally make you feel something. But I will keep fighting for Harry Potter and you can’t stop me, because I can see now that you are just a sorry, sad old man.”

At the far end of the table, Remus stifled a gratified laugh.

“Someone finally said it,” whispered Sirius.

Snape’s eyes seemed devoid of any sentiment at all. His ugly mouth warped into an expression Ron had never seen before. He suddenly stood with a great deal of aggression and strode out the door, slamming it behind him. Ron glanced around at the other members as he caught his breath. His mother's eyes were mortified saucers. Sitting beside her, Mr. Weasley was fighting back a smile. He glanced at Mrs. Weasley before wiping his face clean of any expression at all.

“That,” said Mrs. Weasley carefully. “Is quite enough, Ron. Go upstairs this instant.” 

Ron stood still, his eyes flicking to the faces of each Order member. Finally, he nodded, then left the room as well, though with much less theatrics than Snape had just moments before. Outside, Ginny and Hermione sat, ears still pressed to the wall. Ginny was the first to stand. 

“ _Ron,_ ” she whispered. “That was brilliant. We saw Snape come storming out into the corridor, I thought he was going to murder us.”

Hermione stood too. “I cannot believe you said those things to him. To a teacher. To _Snape_ —”

“Oh please, don’t tell me he didn’t deserve it,” said Ron. “What are you two doing out here?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ginny flipped her hair off her shoulder. “I saw you storm through here and ran to tell Hermione you’d gone mad about something. I knew it seemed important, but… I had no idea…”

“Ron, why didn’t you tell me before you burst into the Order’s meeting?” Hermione asked pointedly. “I would have helped make your case a bit more coherent before you went and disrupted everything under this roof.”

“I could have also helped,” said Ginny. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark,” Ron whispered. “It’s just… this was really important. And I’ve been trying to be more spontaneous lately.”

“Spontaneous?” said Hermione, crossing her arms.

“Well, yeah. That was sort of Harry’s thing, and it always worked out. He’s saved lots of people. He saved _you_ , Ginny. So… now I guess it's my turn.”

“Oh, Ron…” said Ginny. Ron thought she might’ve meant to say more, but just then, Fred and George came barrelling down the staircase, laughing. Hermione’s finger shot to her lips to shush them.

“Eavesdropping, are we?” George whispered, reaching into his pockets and turning to face the door in question. 

“Wicked,” replied Fred. 

“We are not, for your information.” hissed Hermione.

“Not anymore,” said Ginny.

Fred’s eyes lit up as an expression of pride spread across his face. Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes at his obvious approval of privacy violation. Ginny smiled.

“Well, you should. This is quite the scoop,” said George, pressing a horn-shaped contraption against the door and leaning into the thinner end of it. 

“What? Hey, give me that,” fizzled Ron as he snatched the horn from his hands and pressed it between the door and his ear.

“Of course there’s one main issue,” He heard Kingsley speaking coolly. “The dark mark. It’ll be badly faded if it's even there at all.”

“There is one spell,” Remus replied. “Well, more of an incantation, really. ‘ _secretum tenebris revelare_ ’. It’s terribly difficult. But using it would reveal the essence of dark magic to the caster. Most dark magic is cleverly concealed, but certainly a dark mark would show clear as day.”

“But… which of us will have to…” asked Mrs. Weasley, voice trembling. “You know… dig him up? And perform the spell, of course, but…the poor boy…”

There was a long silence.

“I’ll go,” said Sirius.

“Sirius, you can’t. You’re still a fugitive. If anyone from the Wizarding world sees you be thrown back in Azkaban without a second thought.” said Remus.

“I don’t see anyone else jumping at the opportunity,” said Sirius. “Besides, if I go as Padfoot—”

Remus cut in. “Don’t. It’s too dangerous. I’ll go instead. Who else?”

“I’ll go,” said Kingsley.

“You both will have to wait until nightfall,” said Mr. Weasley. “But there’s still a risk of being seen regardless. Be careful.”

Ron heard murmurs of concern, then finally, agreement.

“This meeting shall be resumed tonight at eleven o’clock,” said Kingsley. Hermione and Ginny perked up. Ron pulled back as he realized he was no longer hearing his voice through George’s contraption. Kingsley had moved towards the door, and the whole corridor could hear him.

The five of them backed away and followed as Fred waved them up the stairs. Behind them, they could hear the Order spill into the corridor, talking amongst themselves, including a short banter between Sirius and Tonks which ended with a resounding, “Call me Nymphadora again, Black. _I dare you._ ” Ginny stifled a laugh but composed herself as the noise grew faint and they walked further down the upstairs hallway. Ron opened one of the many bedroom doors. 

“Ron, what did they say?”

“Why is the meeting ending so early?”

“How’d the extendable ear work for you?”

“It’s only a prototype, of course—” 

“Your ear thingy worked just as well as my own, thanks,” said Ron flatly. “But frankly I don’t care about that now.”

“What did they say, Ron?” said Hermione, looking very anxious.

“Lupin and Shaklebolt are digging up Harry— er, Avery. They’re going to see if he’s got a Dark Mark.”

“ _What?_ ” said Ginny.

“Mental,” muttered George.

“Who’s this Avery bloke?” said Fred.

Ron exhaustedly rehashed Cedric’s tale for the second time. When he was finished, the twins seemed to be through with their jokes.

“That means—”

“Merlin’s beard—”

“Harry’s alive?” The twins said in unison.

“For now, yeah. Just as we suspected. The note I got over summer wasn’t a joke or mistake. He must’ve sent it. Cedric thinks he had to fight He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named just for a shred of consciousness.”

There was a sniffle. Each of them turned to the source and saw Ginny, whose cheeks were red and eyes were tear-filled. Ron's heart sank into his stomach. He did not intend for his sister to find out this way. He could only imagine the horrible thoughts racing through her mind at this moment as she, too, had been possessed by the Dark Lord once before. 

“Ginny…” he began.

But before he could finish, he saw Hermione wrap her arms around Ginny in a firm and sympathetic hug. Ginny buried her face into Hermione’s hair and cried. Fred and George didn’t take a moment of hesitation before joining. Ron stood still, questioning what he could do to show the most support for Ginny, but this question was swiftly answered for him when George grabbed hold of his shirt sleeve and pulled him into their embrace. 

The day dragged on and Ron felt as though time was passing through the muddy swamp outside the Hogwarts lake. He spent a lot of his time in the room he claimed as his own, writing the Harry-related details of the day in a school journal so he wouldn’t forget. A suggestion of Hermione’s which he refused to admit he’d put to use. The afternoon passed, and the twins had joined him in his bedroom, claiming they would need a test subject for a new product at any moment. However, Ron had a hunch that they just wanted to spend time with him. 

Fred and George had become especially concerned with Ron’s well-being since June. It was strange at the beginning of the summer, but civil treatment from his brothers was just about the last thing Ron would ever complain about. They sat in his room as the sunset began to throw golden streaks of light past them. Ron told them about his day as the twins listened, cracking the occasional well-meaning joke and the three of them laughed. He made sure to tell them about how he had told off Snape downstairs in a heroic standoff of good and evil. To Ron’s surprise, he didn’t need to fabricate much of the story for the twins to widen their eyes in amazement. 

“Mum is going to kill you,” said Fred.

“Skin you alive,” replied George.

“At least you'll have died a hero’s death,” 

They snickered before a knock sounded from the other side of the bedroom door. Fred opened it to reveal none other than Mrs. Weasley herself. 

“Oh, hi Mum,” said Fred.

“Something on your mind?” asked George innocently as they both stifled grins.

“I’m certain you two have chores that need to be done. I won’t allow you to leave it all up to Ginny like last week,” said Mrs. Weasley.

The twins shot Ron an identical look of remorse before apparating out of the room with an obnoxious _CRACK!_ Ron defensively turned to face his mother.

“Mum, I—”

“I’m not here to yell at you,” said Mrs. Weasley. 

“Oh, really? That’s, er— great,” said Ron sheepishly. 

“Am I furious at how the situation escalated? Yes of course I am. But my anger is almost entirely directed toward Professor Snape. He had no right to say those things about you and Harry. In fact, if you hadn’t said what you did, I would have stepped in and said something quite similar.”

“Really?”

“Yes, well. You may look a great deal like your father, Ron, but you and I have the same temperamental streak,” Mrs. Weasley smiled, but Ron was unsure if this was entirely a compliment. His mother must have picked up on this because she continued. “What I’m saying is that I’m proud of you.”

“Wow… thanks, Mum,” said Ron. 

“I raised you to stand up for your beliefs and that’s exactly what you’ve done today. However, he is your teacher, after all. Meaning I’d appreciate it if you’d leave it to me, the _adult_ , if there is a next time. I will not allow Severus to bully a single one of my children. Ever. That includes Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley.

Ron smiled and relaxed his shoulders. “Thanks,” he uttered. 

Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arms around him in a warm, motherly embrace. Ron wondered how many more times he would be hugged in one day, but the better part of him didn't care. He hugged her back tightly as a familiar sharp pain in his chest urged him to confide in her. “...I miss him, Mum.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded and hugged him tighter. “I miss him too.”

The hug was beginning to feel ages long before Mrs. Weasley finally pulled away. “Now, come down and help me with dinner. I’m sure we’re all starving from the day we’ve had.”

The evening moved quickly and dinner was a quiet affair, although Ron could sense the unspoken excitement of the thought of Harry’s return. After dinner, Molly and Arthur hurried everyone to bed. Ron and the others did what they were told and made their way to their bedrooms. By ten thirty, Order members were returning quickly, minus Remus and Kingsley, though Ron knew exactly where they were at this hour. 

Ron crept to Hermione and Ginny’s bedroom door, then the twins’ door, urging them to follow him. The five of them crouched behind the upstairs banister, peering through the darkness for any hint of what was happening. When the old clock struck eleven o’clock, the door opened and Remus and Kingsley made their way to the infamous double doors at the end of the corridor. When they heard the doors shut, Ron and the others practically slid down the stairs and tip-toed all the way to the doorway concealing the now resumed Order meeting. Ron felt a tap on his shoulder and the extendable ear pressed into his hand. He held it against the door once again. 

It was Remus’ voice that spoke, uttering four short words that made Ron’s entire body go cold. “The kid was right.”


End file.
